


Chink in Your Armour

by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)



Series: Sterek New Year's Extravaganza [16]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Established Relationship, Hurt Derek, Hurt Stiles, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mates, Protective Derek, Secret Relationship, Self-Sacrificing Derek, Self-Sacrificing Stiles Stilinski, Stiles Makes the Best Plans, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-10
Updated: 2018-01-10
Packaged: 2019-03-04 16:53:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13369041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wasterella/pseuds/isthatbloodonhisshirt
Summary: Hands shaking, Stiles pulled up his contacts and hit Scott’s name, listening to it ring and feeling like his lungs were constricting.“Stiles, where—”“I found his phone!” Stiles shouted. “I found his phone, I need your nose!”“You found Derek’s phone?”“No, I found the President’s phone,of course Derek’s phone! Scott, focus! I need your nose!”(SNYE - January 16th - Secret Relationship)





	Chink in Your Armour

**Author's Note:**

> Teen Wolf (c) Jeff Davis

Stiles slouched further in his seat, arms crossed and legs splayed while scowling at a spot on the coffee table in front of him. He barely listened to what was being discussed, given it was _his_  plan, except with one notable difference. Rather than complain loudly about it, only to be ignored like he always was, Stiles just sat there and exuded anger and resentment.

He must’ve been doing well, because everyone near him was shifting uncomfortably and casting him worried looks. He knew they probably had no idea why he was so mad, but that wasn’t his problem. His problem was currently standing and laying out a plan that had previously been perfect but was now less so because of the alteration.

“That sounds like our best bet,” Scott said, pointedly ignoring how angry Stiles was. “We’ll get ourselves organized for that and reconvene tomorrow with everything we need. This should all be over by the weekend.”

Everyone nodded and murmured confirmation, getting to their feet and beginning to file out. Stiles slapped both hands against his knees and stood, turning to follow everyone out but someone grabbed his arm.

Scott turned at the door to give him a questioning look but Stiles just rolled his eyes in exaggeration and turned to his captor.

“You make people uncomfortable when you act like that.”

“Oh, do I?” Stiles asked, pulling his arm free and glaring. “Do I make people uncomfortable? I’m sorry, how terrible of me to make people uncomfortable. I’ll work on that for tomorrow.”

Stiles turned and stormed to the door, walking past Scott who’d been hovering just outside. He ignored his quizzical look and just headed down the stairs so he could leave the fucking building.

Outside, virtually everyone had left, only Liam and Mason lingering, but it looked like they were having a debate and that was why they hadn’t disappeared yet.

“What was that about?” Scott asked Stiles when he caught up to him.

“Nothing, just Derek being Derek and not trusting the human,” Stiles said bitterly, heading to the Jeep and wrenching open the driver’s side door.

“You know that’s not true,” Scott insisted with a scowl, having to lean back to avoid Stiles shutting the door into him. “Derek trusts you with his life.”

“I’ll see you later,” Stiles said in way of response and started the car, driving away. He could see Scott watching him in his rear-view mirror, but he was too annoyed to feel bad about worrying him.

He made it home relatively quickly, parking in the driveway and not bothering to be quiet on his way in since his dad was at work. He heated up some leftovers and went up to his room to eat dinner and do homework.

No rest for the wicked _or_  the high school student. Stiles was just glad he was almost done. He didn’t know that he would go to university. Frankly, at the rate things were going, he’d be lucky if he survived to graduation. Hell, he was lucky he’d survived _this_  long, really.

Working on his homework while he ate, he finished it relatively quickly and then started doing some planning on all the countermeasures to anything that could go wrong the following day. It was likely going to be fine, but luck favoured the prepared.

Feeling as confident as he was going to get, Stiles went to take a shower, browsed Netflix for a bit in bed, and then finally turned everything off and rolled over to go to sleep.

He’d barely settled in when his eyes opened once more at the sound of his window opening. Soft footsteps landed almost silently in his room before the window was shut once more.

Stiles waited, back to the window, and listened for what was coming next. He was still oozing anger and frustration so he had to wonder how things were going to play out.

As normal, apparently, because he felt the blanket lift, not having heard a sound from the window to the bed, and a warm body slid in behind him. He was only wearing his shorts and a shirt, meaning he’d stripped out of his jacket and jeans without a sound.

Two arms encircled his waist, pulling him tightly against a taut chest, and stubble dragged almost uncomfortably against the back of his neck.

“I’m still pissed at you,” he said in the darkness, keeping his back turned and arms tucked under his pillow to raise it slightly.

Derek sighed heavily behind him, tightening his hold. “I figured that out when you left and didn’t come back.”

“It was a good plan,” he insisted, scowling at the wall. “It was solid. It would’ve worked fine how I laid it out to you last night.”

“And it’ll work fine how I laid it out earlier,” Derek argued, running his nose lightly along the back of Stiles’ neck.

“You replaced my entire presence in the plan!” Stiles insisted, shrugging away from Derek and sitting up so he could turn to glare at him.

Derek sighed, rolling onto his back and propping himself up, giving Stiles a trademark scowl.

“It was too risky leaving it how it was. You would’ve gotten hurt.”

“Oh, and it’s okay for _you_  to get hurt?” Stiles snapped.

“I heal faster than you do,” Derek bit out.

“Here we go,” Stiles threw both hands up, annoyed and frustrated. “Another fun lecture from Derek Hale of why Werewolves are better than humans.”

“That’s not what this is,” Derek insisted, sitting up fully and glaring at Stiles. “You know as well as I do that it’s _better_  when—”

“When what?” Stiles snapped, crossing his arms. “Finish that sentence, I _dare_  you.”

Derek scoffed and threw the covers off himself, turning to the side and grabbing his jeans off the floor. Stiles watched him yank them on, looking around for his jacket. Once he had it in hand, he grabbed his boots, jerked open the window, and disappeared out of the house.

Stiles glared angrily after his retreating form, then pulled the blankets up over his head and lay back down.

It wasn’t the first time they’d had this same exact fight, so he knew they both just needed to cool down. Still, it was times like this where he wished he had someone to rant at about Derek.

It wasn’t that he didn’t _want_  people to know he was dating Derek, it was more just that he was barely eighteen, and Derek was twenty-two and had been accused of murder and wasn’t exactly on people’s Christmas card list.

Scott probably wouldn’t care, except if he felt like being judgmental, which he might, really. His dad would _definitely_  care. Malia would probably care, in a weird ex-girlfriend, territorial Werecoyote way.

He supposed he could tell Lydia but it just seemed like a lot of trouble. He felt better just having Derek and not worrying about the details of their relationship.

Stiles was still angrily trying to fall asleep when he suddenly got hit by a burst of panic and sat bolt upright, heart slamming against his ribs and chest tight.

As quickly as it had come, the feeling passed and he waited a good few minutes to be absolutely sure everything was fine before laying back down. He was prone to random panic attacks, this wasn’t a concern. Probably just residuals of the Nogitsune, it happened sometimes, especially at night.

Rolling onto his side, back to the window, he silently cursed Derek for having left it open, then closed his eyes for sleep.

* * *

“You look terrible.”

“Thanks, Scotty.” Stiles slapped one hand on his friend’s shoulder, offering him the fakest smile he could manage on only a few hours of sleep. “I can always count on you, buddy.”

Scott winced, as if realizing his comment hadn’t exactly been polite, but Stiles just pulled his strap higher on his shoulder to avoid losing his backpack and followed Scott into school. The corridors were loud and boisterous, packed with people talking and laughing. Stiles just easily side-stepped various people, Scott sticking close to him while they headed for their lockers.

He was sure he looked about as good as he felt. He’d had a terrible night, waking up every few hours feeling like he was having a panic attack. His chest kept getting tight, heart beating a mile a minute, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.

Eventually, he just lay staring at his ceiling until his alarm went off, and cursed Derek for making him feel this way. He figured he was just worrying about their fight, despite fighting being an almost constant thing for them.

He and Scott reached their lockers relatively quickly, squeezing their way through a group of freshmen who quickly scattered when they realized they were seniors.

“Hey, have you heard from Derek this morning?” Scott asked once they’d reached them.

Stiles fumbled the book he’d been pulling out, almost dropping it and having to play an awkward game of hot potato to keep hold of it.

“What?” he asked, voice higher than normal while he kept his face buried in his locker. “No. What? Why-why do you think I’d have heard from Derek? I don’t hear from Derek, we never talk, who’s Derek?”

Stiles winced, knowing that had been _super_  obvious, but Scott just frowned while switching out his own books. He never asked Stiles about Derek. Usually they didn’t even talk about him, it was how they’d kept their relationship a secret for so long.

“I went by his place this morning but he wasn’t there,” Scott said with a frown. “His car was gone, too.”

“He must’ve gone out somewhere,” Stiles said, slamming his locker shut.

“I guess, but we were talking last night and he said he’d be there.”

Stiles figured it must’ve been after he’d left his house, but he didn’t worry about it, shrugging and walking down the corridor with Scott.

“He’s probably off brooding somewhere. That, or lurking outside like a creeper.”

Scott grinned at him, despite his confusion at being blown off, and Stiles clapped him on the shoulder, the two of them heading into class.

Stiles fell down into his seat, tossing his books on the desk, and pulled out a pen, flicking it rapidly back and forth while he waited for class to start.

“Why were you so mad at him last night, anyway?” Scott asked, taking the seat beside him.

“I’m always mad at him.”

“Last night was different. You guys were both acting weird about the whole thing.”

“Nothing’s weird, Scotty.”

Scott watched him for a moment longer, then shrugged and started pulling out his books. Stiles wasn’t lying, nothing _was_  weird. This was literally how they always were, it was just that Stiles got angrier now than he used to because he thought his boyfriend would be fucking _supportive_.

His fault for having delusional thoughts.

Scott’s comment about Derek bailing on him was kind of bugging him, though. Derek could be an asshole, but if he said he would be somewhere, he usually was unless he couldn’t be. And even then, he would always text to say something else came up. It was weird for him to have told Scott he’d be there, and then not be without so much as a text.

Sure, he was pissed at Stiles, but that didn’t mean he’d blow off Scott.

Tossing his pen down, he raised his hips off the seat and pulled his phone out. Opening it to his messages, he hit Derek’s and started texting, the bell ringing while he was doing so.

 **[User]**  
just because you’re grumpy doesn’t mean you can blow scott off  
**[User]**  
where even are you?

“Stiles?”

He looked up and saw Mr. Yukimura giving him a pointed look. Mouthing an apology, he tucked his phone away and went back to flicking his pen.

Stiles spent most of class waiting for his phone to vibrate in his pocket, but by the time the bell rang to end first period, he still didn’t have a response.

Pulling it from his pocket while heading to his next class, he frowned down at it, wondering if maybe Derek had gone home and crashed after Scott had passed by. If he was sleeping, he likely wouldn’t hear his phone.

 **[User]**  
i know you’re pissed but pls text me when you’re up

Stiles shoved his phone back into his pocket when he headed into second period. He tried to pay attention, but his brain was fully focussed on his phone and the lack of vibration coming from it.

He and Derek fought every now and then, and Derek often left in a huff—or Stiles did, depending on whose place they were at—but they usually got over whatever they were pissed about within a few hours. And even while pissed, they still texted, Derek didn’t usually ignore him.

Maybe last night had been a breaking point? Maybe Derek had finally had enough?

Maybe he was starting to think that dating an eighteen year old was more trouble than it was worth? Or worse: dating a _human_!

Stiles had another episode between second and third period, the almost panic attack hitting him suddenly and Scott gripping his arm tightly, face tight with concern. He shrugged it off and headed through the door, rubbing at his chest. He promised Scott they were common since the Nogitsune, but it had been a long time since he’d had one during the day.

He was halfway through third period, foot bouncing and mind going a mile a minute, before he couldn’t take it anymore. He pulled out his phone and carefully opened his contacts. Hitting Derek’s number and leaving it off speakerphone, he turned the volume down low enough that no one but him—and Scott—could hear, and let it ring.

It rang, and rang, and rang. Then it went to voicemail. Stiles hung up, staring down at his phone, and ignored the look he got from Scott.

 **[User]**  
can you pls call me  
**[User]**  
or text me  
**[User]**  
i’m not mad btw...

It felt lame texting that last one, but this wasn’t normal for Derek. He should’ve at _least_  texted him, even if it was just to tell him to shut up because he was trying to sleep.

When they were heading to fourth period, Stiles stopped outside the classroom, phone at his ear, calling Derek again.

“What’s going on?” Scott asked, hanging back with him.

It went to voicemail again, and Stiles really couldn’t shake the uncomfortable feeling he’d had all morning.

“I’m gonna go check on Derek,” he said, shoving his phone into his pocket and turning to head for the door.

“You’re what?” Scott asked, moving after him quickly to keep in step with him. “Stiles, Derek’s fine, he’s probably just sleeping.”

“Probably, but I’m going to check anyway,” Stiles insisted.

“You’re really going to skip class to check that Derek is sleeping?” Scott gave him a weird look. “What’s going on with you?”

“Nothing, I just—I want to just check something.”

“I’ll come with,” Scott said.

“Nah man, it’s cool.” Stiles patted Scott’s chest with one hand. “I’ll be quick. Cover for me.”

“Sure,” Scott agreed, but he sounded uncertain.

Stiles ignored that and quickly headed for the exit, bypassing all the teachers as stealthily as he could. Once in the lot, he jogged to his Jeep, climbing in and slamming the door. He left the school grounds before anyone noticed and drove as close to the speed limit as he could on his way to Derek’s. The last thing he needed was to get pulled over.

When he got there, he parked near the door, but noticed the Camaro wasn’t there. That didn’t bode well.

Exiting the Jeep, he headed for the door, pulling it open and jogging up the stairs to the loft. He pounded loudly on the door, waiting to listen a few seconds before pounding again.

“Derek?” he called, pressing his ear to the door. “Derek, are you there?”

No response.

Stiles tugged at the door, but it didn’t budge, so he pounded again.

“Derek, open the door,” he insisted. “You’re being childish.”

No response.

Pulling his phone out, he called Derek’s phone again, but it went straight to voicemail this time.

Fear prickled its way up his spine at that. Derek never turned off his phone. None of them _ever_  turned off their phones. It was just one of those things they’d all agreed on since the pack almost died on a regular basis.

“Maybe his phone is out of battery,” he insisted to himself quietly, pulling it away from his ear and hanging up before the other end beeped.

He stared at his phone for a long while before dialling another number.

_“Beacon Hills Sheriff’s Department.”_

“Hey Tracey, it’s Stiles. Is my dad still there?” If she’d answered instead of his dad, probably not since he’d called his direct line, but it was worth a shot.

_“Sorry hun, he went home about two hours ago.”_

“Oh, okay. Uh, is Parrish around?”

_“Last I checked, give me a second.”_

“Thanks.”

He heard elevator music for a few seconds, then a new voice rang down the line.

_“Parrish.”_

“Hey, it’s Stiles. Are you gonna be doing patrols today?”

_“Not scheduled to, but I can if need be. Why, what’s happening?”_

“Can you keep an eye out for Derek’s Camaro?”

_“Sure. Is something wrong?”_

Stiles didn’t know how to answer that question, so he went with, “I don’t know. Thanks Parrish.”

He hung up without waiting on a reply, scratching at his cheek and trying to think. Thinking was kind of keeping the panic at bay, so thinking was good. Maybe Derek had gone for a drive to clear his head and his phone had died. It wasn’t unheard of, though usually his phone _didn’t_  die. Still, not impossible.

 _Preserve,_ Stiles decided. _I’ll check the preserve._

Turning to head back down the stairs, he checked his phone when he got a text message, but it was just Scott asking if everything was okay. He told him he wasn’t sure yet, and then headed out to the Jeep. He drove to the preserve and headed for the old Hale house, but Derek wasn’t anywhere around there. It wasn’t until he was back in his Jeep and driving towards town that he realized he’d been stupid to just wander into the woods alone.

Considering they were currently dealing with some kind of unknown Demon, he would’ve gotten shit on really hard if something had happened to him. Thankfully, he was fine, though starting to panic a little bit.

He was halfway home when he had to pull over to have a panic attack. He didn’t know if this was the same as the pseudo ones he’d been having since the night before, or if this was an _actual_  one because Derek wasn’t answering his phone, but he felt sick and exhausted by the time he’d calmed himself down.

Knowing he wasn’t going to get anything done at school, he just headed for his house instead, knowing his dad would understand why he’d skipped out, though maybe not entirely. Just enough to let him off the hook.

He was almost there when he glanced down a side street and slammed on the brakes. Reversing, he turned and drove a little ways down until he could park behind a black Camaro. Climbing out of the Jeep, he hurried to the car to make sure it was Derek’s, and upon seeing the license plate, concluded that it was.

He could feel his heart beginning to pound in his chest again, this one a legitimate attack starting, because this was where Derek always parked his car when he came over.

Stiles and Derek had to be careful with their vehicles, because they were both fairly unique in their small town. Stiles’ Jeep was recognizable by virtually the entire population of Beacon Hills, and while far less people recognized Derek’s Camaro, the people who counted—like his dad and Scott—definitely knew it. So whenever they spent the night at each other’s places, they had to make sure their vehicles didn’t give them away.

Stiles always parked his car in the lot of a twenty-four hour diner two blocks from Derek’s loft, and Derek always parked his car on the street across from an old abandoned house that had never sold on the market four blocks from his.

For Derek’s car to still be there was terrifying, because it meant when Derek had left his house the previous night, _he hadn’t made it to his car_.

Stiles pulled his phone out with shaky hands and quickly called Scott, free hand in his hair and tugging while he breathed hard, dots dancing in front of his eyes. He was having a panic attack. Shit, this was _not_  the time to be having a panic attack!

He crouched down, leaning back against the Camaro, and struggled to inhale, one hand still holding his phone to his ear, and the other tugging harshly at his hair. He didn’t know how long it took for him to calm down, but when he finally came back to himself, Scott was screaming his name in his ear.

_“Stiles! Stiles, talk to me!”_

“He’s gone,” Stiles managed to get out. “Scott, Derek’s _gone_!”

_“What do you mean gone? Where are you? I’m coming to you, just tell me where you are!”_

Stiles didn’t know how to respond, he was too numb and terrified. Jesus Christ, Derek was _gone_! What if the Demon had gotten him? Shit, it probably had. Derek had left his house, and then poof. Disappeared. Gone.

He felt ready to be sick when he realized their last interaction had ended in a fight. How could he have been so fucking _stupid_?! With their lives the way they were, how could either of them just walk out on the other without resolving the issue? Stiles had done it to Derek multiple times, and Derek had responded in kind. How could they just allow that when their lives were so dangerous and fragile?!

What if he never saw Derek again?!

“Calm down,” Stiles insisted to himself, burying his face against his knees. “Calm down, calm down. It’s okay. He’s okay. He’s _fine_.”

“Stiles?”

He looked up when a hand fell on his shoulder, his father bent down in front of him, looking concerned and exhausted. He noticed the cruiser parked on the road with the lights on, and realized Scott had probably called his dad when he’d become unresponsive and his father had happened to notice the Jeep on his way by the street. Stiles was even still holding his phone to his ear, despite the call having long since ended.

“Dad, Derek is _gone_ ,” he said, feeling panic rising again. He grabbed at his father’s shirt, a loud clatter informing him he’d dropped his phone, but he didn’t care. “We have to find him! We have to _save_  him!”

“Son, you need to calm down and breathe, okay?”

“Didn’t you hear me?!” Stiles demanded. “Dad, Derek is _missing_!”

“And we’re going to deal with that as soon as you calm down and take a breath for me, okay?”

Stiles knew his breathing was erratic, and he knew he was having another panic attack, but he couldn’t calm down with Derek fucking _missing_!

He didn’t remember getting into the cruiser, but eventually he found himself staring out the windshield at his house, his father having just parked in the driveway. He’d evidently left his Jeep behind where he’d parked it.

Stiles got out of the cruiser, feeling numb, and was greeted by Scott coming down the porch steps, looking concerned.

“Stiles are you okay? What happened?”

“We found the Camaro,” the sheriff informed him, the three of them making their way inside. “It was parked four blocks away.”

“What was it doing there?” Scott asked, confused.

“He came to see me,” Stiles informed them, still feeling numb. He fell heavily onto the couch, burying his face in his hands, and tried to keep himself under control. He couldn’t help Derek if he spent the whole time having panic attacks. He had to calm down and _focus_. Maybe his dad had the right idea, after all. Yes, Derek was missing, but he wouldn’t be able to help him until he calmed down.

“Derek came to see you last night?” Scott asked, surprised. “Why? And why did he park four blocks away?”

When Stiles didn’t answer, brain going a mile a minute, wondering what had happened between the house and his car, his dad spoke up.

“Why he was here isn’t important. What we need to figure out is who took him, and why.”

The two of them spoke for a few minutes, Stiles zoning out since he was thinking so hard. When he focussed back in, he realized they’d both noticed he wasn’t all there and caught the tail-end of their conversation.

“—ever freak out like this before. Derek’s just Derek, this isn’t a normal reaction,” Scott was saying.

“We’ll worry about that later. For now, we just need to—”

Stiles stood instantly, heading for the stairs.

“Where are you going?” Scott asked.

“To do research,” Stiles called back, rushing up to his room and slamming the door behind him. He fell down into his chair and booted up his laptop, beginning to type the instant it was on. He had to find something. There had to _be_  something that he could find. There was no way after all these years of saving Derek that he was going to fail now, when they’d parted on bad terms. Stiles still wanted to have the opportunity to yell at him for implying humans were weak, fragile little things.

Loading the Beastiary, Stiles began flipping through it until he got to the section on Demons, and began to read.

* * *

Nobody bothered Stiles while he worked. Scott had come up to grab a book to conduct some of his own research, but he eventually left the house to work on trying to track Derek’s scent. It had rained in the night, and was still fairly muggy out, so it was hard for him to pick much up, but he tried.

Liam came out to help as well, and Lydia and Deaton were working on something at the clinic, but Stiles didn’t think they would figure anything out. He was the research guy, this was _his_  thing, and Derek was _his_  boyfriend so he _would_  find him.

It was really hard focussing on the Demons in the Beastiary because there were just so fucking many of them. All different kinds of them, ranging from tricksters, to seducers, to possessors. The list was endless, and daunting, and _terrifying_  because all these things actually existed. But Stiles couldn’t focus on how scary that was, he needed to figure out which one he was looking for.

It wasn’t until half-past nine and a lot of pseudo attacks later that he finally found something and stood so abruptly his chair fell over.

“Scott!” he yelled, running for his door. “Scotty!”

“What?” Scott appeared at the top of the stairs just as Stiles exited his room.

“I think I know what has him!” he rushed back to his computer, knowing Scott would follow. “I’ve been looking up all the different kinds of Demons that exist, and there’re a lot of them, let me tell you, it’s kind of terrifying, but that aside, I think this is the one we’re looking for.” He motioned at his screen while Scott sat down, reading the page over. The sheriff appeared in the doorway, but Stiles ignored him, pacing behind Scott and raking one hand through his hair, gesticulating wildly. “Apparently it’s a specific type of Demon that feeds off emotions, especially strong emotions like anger, hatred and love. The stronger the emotion, the more the Demon feeds, and if you have someone feeling more than one of those emotions at the same time, it makes for a pretty tasty meal.”

“And you think Derek has enough anger for this Demon to have come after him?” Scott asked.

“What?” Stiles demanded. “No, I mean he has anger, obviously, he’s Derek, but I meant that he feels all three of those emotions almost all at once all the time.”

“Not to be insensitive, but as far as I know, everyone Derek loves is dead, so I doubt he feels much of that,” Scott insisted, turning to him.

Stiles froze halfway across the room, staring at him, almost snapping that he was wrong before remembering that he couldn’t.

Derek had a hard time emotionally with a lot of things, love definitely being one of them, but if there was one thing Stiles knew, it was that Derek Hale loved him.

And he knew that, because Derek had legitimately told him so.

But he couldn’t tell Scott that, especially when his dad was standing in the doorway.

“Trust me, I know I’m right. This is what we’re looking for.” He jabbed his finger emphatically towards the screen. “We need to find its hideout, and then we can kill it.”

Scott turned back to the screen, scrolling a little while reading, then hummed. “It says here it only goes after humans.”

“Yeah, I know, I read that too, but exceptions happen, okay?” Stiles demanded, feeling agitated once more. “It also says it only goes after humans because they’re easier prey. Can you imagine a showdown between a Demon and a Werewolf? That’d be insane.”

“Exactly, meaning Derek probably didn’t get taken by this.” Scott motioned the screen.

“I know I’m right!” Stiles shouted, which had both Scott and his dad looking at him oddly. “No one _ever_  listens to me! I tell you you’re a Werewolf, and you ignore me! I say Matt is controlling the Kanima, and everyone ignores me! I tell people I’m the Nogitsune, and they ignore me! I say Derek was taken by this Demon, and you ignore me! Can people maybe _stop_  ignoring me?! I’m not fucking wrong!”

“Stiles, what is going on with you?” his dad asked, moving forward into the room. “You’re acting a little out of character right now.”

“I’m just _worried_ , okay?!” He rounded on him. “I’m worried about Derek, is that not allowed?!”

“I understand you’re worried, but Scott’s not wrong. If you think—”

“Forget it, I’ll find him myself!”

He pushed past his dad out of the room, ignoring him when he called him back. He just hurried down the stairs and slammed out of the house, rushing to the Jeep. He knew he wasn’t wrong, and he wasn’t going to sit around and wait for people to listen to him. That hadn’t worked out so well with the Nogitsune.

When he climbed into the Jeep and backed out, he had no idea where he was going. He just drove, foot pressing hard on the pedal, wishing he could just drive himself exactly where Derek was and save his stupid furry ass.

 _This_ was why Stiles made the fucking plans! Because who was fucking missing right now? _Not Stiles_! Because he knew what he was doing! And if Derek hadn’t fucking changed the God damn plan last night, Stiles wouldn’t have gotten pissed and left, then Derek wouldn’t have come over and gotten fucking kidnapped!

Derek needed to _stop_ getting kidnapped, it was bad for Stiles’ health.

He was so angry at everyone doubting him all the time, that when he finally slowed the car down after it began to whine at him, he realized he was almost a mile out of town and pulled over onto the shoulder. He rested his forehead, against the steering wheel, struggling to calm down before things got worse for him.

When he managed to calm his angry breathing, he checked the gas and sighed when he saw he was almost on empty. Terrific. Figures.

Looking around to ascertain where he was, he saw nothing but darkness on either side of him, this area severely lacking in street lights. Climbing out of the car, he slammed the door and started walking back towards town before realizing that probably wasn’t the best idea. He was pretty angry right now, and he knew he wasn’t wrong about the kind of Demon in the area.

With his luck, he’d end up being the thing’s next meal.

Turning to head back for his Jeep, where he could at least lock the doors and call his dad, he tripped over something and fell on his face, cursing and muttering angrily while getting back to his feet. Brushing off the front of his pants, his hands stinging, he squinted at the ground, but it was too dark to see anything. Pulling his phone out and turning on the flashlight, he angled it downward and frowned, bending down to pick up what he’d tripped over.

It was an Iphone, the screen black and without a case. When he flipped it over, his heart hit his feet because there was a crudely drawn sharpie doodle of a wolf on the back of the phone.

A crudely drawn sharpie doodle of a wolf that _Stiles_  had drawn on the phone.

Because this was Derek’s phone.

“Derek!” Stiles screamed, turning in a circle, heart pounding in his chest. “Derek!” He started to head blindly in one direction before realizing he needed a nose right now.

He needed a fucking Werewolf.

Hands shaking, Stiles pulled up his contacts and hit Scott’s name, listening to it ring and feeling like his lungs were constricting.

_“Stiles, where—”_

“I found his phone!” Stiles shouted. “I found his phone, I need your nose!”

_“You found Derek’s phone?”_

“No, I found the President’s phone, _of course Derek’s phone_! Scott, focus! I need your nose!”

_“Where are you? I’m on my way.”_

“Fuck, I don’t...” Stiles trailed off, turning in a circle. “I don’t know where I am. Can dad trace my cell?”

_“I’ll ask. Are you safe?”_

“Who cares?! Just get out here!” Stiles hung up on him, still turning in a circle. He wanted to rush out into the woods surrounding him, find Derek, and drag his furry butt home where it belonged. He was so fucking mad this was happening, he could hardly stand it.

He almost had another pseudo panic attack when he headed into the woods on his left, and somehow that made him have the brilliant idea to go into the woods on his right. Whatever, Scott was coming, he’d find him if he got lost. Stiles couldn’t just stand there and do _nothing_!

Tripping repeatedly through the forest and cursing his way along, with only the light from his phone as illumination, Stiles managed to make it a good twenty feet in before falling down a hill. Because he was awesome like that. Cursing colourfully once he reached the bottom, covered in mud and aching in various places, he felt around for his phone since he’d dropped it during his tumble when he realized it was a little brighter down there than it had been up near the road. He looked around, search for his phone forgotten, and noticed light coming from somewhere to his left.

Getting to his feet, he quickly and quietly—well, by human standards—made his way through the trees towards the source of light.

It looked like some kind of sewer entrance, but there was light flickering in its depths.

“Great,” Stiles muttered to himself. “If there’s a fucking cannibalistic clown in there, I fucking quit.”

He stayed crouched behind the tree, listening hard and trying to figure out if anyone was home, but that wasn’t exactly going to work for him. He wasn’t in possession of super-human anything, which he felt would’ve been useful right then, and was probably the only time in his life he wished he’d taken Peter up on his offer.

Letting out a slow breath, he carefully moved out from behind the tree, looking around quickly, and made his way to the sewer entrance. He stayed in a mostly crouched position while slowly making his way down the large cement tube, though he didn’t know why. The ceiling was well above him, but he supposed he felt like he was being quieter when he walked hunched over.

Reaching the bend, he glanced quickly around the corner to see if anyone was there, but saw nothing aside from the faintly flickering light.

“I’m an idiot,” he hissed to himself, and wished he’d brought his bat, but he just pushed forward and rounded the bend. There was sewage on the ground now, his sneakers squishing in things he didn’t want to think about, and when he looked around the next corner, his survival instincts went out the window.

“Derek!”

He raced the short distance from the corner to where he was lying on his side, back against the wall and curled in on himself.

“Don’t be dead, don’t be dead,” Stiles insisted, falling down beside him and rolling him onto his back. “Please don’t be dead. Hey. Derek.” He slapped at his face. “Derek, wake up.”

He didn’t move, or react at all to Stiles’ presence. With a sense of dread, Stiles started to check for a pulse before he saw Derek’s chest move in a shallow exhale and air whooshed out of his own lungs in a sigh of relief.

He was okay. Well, alive, at least, which was comforting.

Stiles looked around for something he could use to drag Derek out of there on, but whipped back to him when the other let out a small cough.

“Derek?” Stiles slapped at his face again. “Hey, can you hear me? Wake up. Derek!”

When his eyes fluttered open, Stiles felt like they were the most beautiful eyes he had ever seen in his life. They were dull and unfocussed, but they were open.

“Stiles?” Derek slurred. Somehow, that seemed to sharpen his focus a little bit, and he tried to sit up before wincing and grabbing at the front of Stiles’ shirt. “What are you doing here? Get out of here!”

“I’m not leaving you,” Stiles bit out, one hand closed around Derek’s closest wrist.

“Stiles, you don’t understand, you have to—”

“Hello.”

Stiles whipped around, almost falling over in his haste to do so.

There was a woman.

There was a woman sitting in a chair a little ways from where he was.

From the looks of it, she’d been there the whole time, watching Stiles completely ignore her and rush to Derek.

Stiles stood, hands clenched into fists, and ignored Derek hissing at him angrily from the floor, blunt nails digging into his right calf through his jeans.

“Can I help you with something?” the woman asked. She looked remarkably well dressed to be living in a sewer, wearing a beige-coloured pencil skirt with an off-white blouse and a matching jacket overtop.

“I came for Derek,” Stiles said, sounding much braver than he felt. He wasn’t going to go down without a fight, and he was going to do whatever it took to protect Derek.

“Oh, I see.” She smiled at him. “I’m afraid that isn’t an option for you. You see, Stiles, Derek and I made a deal.”

“Then make a new deal,” Stiles bit out. “I’m taking him with me.”

The woman stared at him for a moment, and then let out a deep sigh, brushing her hand across her forehead to sweep some hair out of her eyes.

“See, this is why I wanted you. You have so much _passion_ , so many emotions. I could’ve had a real feast with you.”

Stiles heard Derek growl angrily from the floor, but it was a weak sound, almost an empty threat. His hand was still gripping tightly at the back of Stiles’ calf, as if ready to pull him out of the way if need be.

It was hard to focus on Derek right then, though, because Stiles was still rolling her words over in his head, staring at her.

“What do you mean?” he asked slowly. “What do you mean you wanted me?”

“Derek,” the woman tsked. “I thought you said he was bright.”

Derek just growled again, tugging at Stiles’ leg, and biting out for him to run.

“What do you _mean_?” Stiles demanded again.

“Well, funny story,” the woman said, leaning forward in her seat and smoothing out the wrinkles in her skirt. “I was summoned here by an incompetent little boy who thought a Demon could solve all his problems. Too bad for him, he doesn’t know how to make a good deal. He was rather tasty, though a little tart for my taste.”

Stiles’ heart was pounding in his chest, and for the first time all day, he knew it was in fear. He remembered the first body that had been brought in, when Melissa had originally called them all to talk about her findings. It had been of a twelve year old boy.

The book hadn’t gone into too much detail about how the Demon fed, but it made it sound like they ate the life force of whoever they’d decided to latch onto. Depending on a person’s emotional state and general strength, it could kill them instantly, or take a matter of days to deplete someone to the point of death.

That was how Stiles had known Derek was likely still alive, despite having been gone for well over twenty-four hours by now. If anyone was too stubborn to kick the bucket by sheer willpower alone, it was Derek.

Stiles was probably a close second.

“With no one left to keep my contract,” the Demon continued, “I decided to stick around and see what other goodies this town had to offer. When I got a whiff of you, oh I knew you would be something special.” She licked her lips, and Stiles had never felt so violated by such a simple action before in his life. “I’ve never had a human mate before.”

Derek’s growl was louder from the floor this time, and the hand previously digging into Stiles’ calf was now wrapped protectively around his leg, almost making him lose his balance.

“Human mate? What is that? What does that mean?” Stiles demanded.

“You don’t know?” Her eyebrows shot up. “But I thought you were the research guy. Do you not research Werewolves, Stiles? How do you think you found him so easily?”

Easily? Stiles hadn’t found Derek easily at all! He’d been doing research for a better part of the day after having driven around like an idiot _looking_  for him while suffering from panic att—

Stiles’ brain stuttered to a halt.

He’d had the first pseudo panic attack last night, shortly after Derek had left his house. He’d then continued to have them for the majority of the day, until finally he’d found himself on an unfamiliar road going out of town where he _happened_  to trip over Derek’s phone and _happened_  to choose the right direction to go in.

He didn’t want to take his eyes off the woman, but he couldn’t help it. He turned to look down at Derek, who was partially wolfed out and glaring across the space at her, arm still wrapped protectively around his leg.

It seemed to be taking all of Derek’s energy to keep that grip on him at all.

“A human and a Werewolf,” the woman said, Stiles turning back to her. “Not unheard of, of course. It’s happened so many times it’s almost boring. But _mates_? Oh, now _that_ is rare. Mates is something reserved only for the Werewolf side of things, where the connection is so strong that both are linked together by an invisible force. It’s easy for that to develop with the wolves, but for a human? And you have so much _rage_  inside you, Stiles. Pure anger and hatred and _evil_.”

That was like a slap to the face, and all he could think about was the dark mark the Nogitsune had left on his soul, tainting him forever. He wasn’t that _thing_ , but he wasn’t really purely _Stiles_  anymore, either.

“Coupled with that, you have a lot of love in you. Love for your father, love for your friends, love for him.” She nodded her chin at Derek, smiling brightly. “You would have made the meal of a lifetime. A unique and rare delicacy unheard of by my kind. And I was so eager to taste you.” She licked her lips again, giving him a once-over, and Stiles felt every hair on his body rise on end.

“But, sadly, when I went for you, he got in the way.” She motioned Derek again with a dismissive wave of her hand. “He found me lurking about, but was smart enough to know he couldn’t beat me by himself. So instead, he made a deal with me. His life for yours.”

Stiles’ entire body went cold at the words, and it felt like they were echoing in his very bones.

Derek had left his house while they were both pissed at each other, run into the Demon, and offered himself up to save Stiles’ life.

No.

Fucking _no_.

“Break it,” Stiles ordered, ignoring Derek’s angry snap of his name at the words.

“Oh, believe me, I wish I could. Having you here, smelling you from this close, I should never have agreed to Derek’s terms. But,” she sighed, “a Demon’s deal is absolute. If I were to break it, I would die.” She spread her hands wide. “I rather enjoy living, thank you. So I can’t touch you. That’s the deal.”

“Then make a new deal,” Stiles ordered. “Make a new deal with me.”

“Stiles,” Derek snapped again, the warning clear in his tone, but Stiles ignored him once more.

The Demon was tapping her index finger thoughtfully against her knee, eying Stiles. Her gaze was calculating, like she was trying to work out the best way to do this so that she could get what she wanted.

“What were the conditions of your deal with Derek?” Stiles asked. “We can find a workaround.”

Derek was tugging angrily at his leg, but Stiles just shook himself free—relatively easily, given how weak Derek currently was—and moved out of his space so that Derek couldn’t touch him again.

“It was fairly standard, really.” She shrugged one shoulder. “Derek agreed that he would come with me without putting up a fight, and allow me to feed off him until he died provided that I never fed off you for as long as you lived. Clever wording, really. Most people say for as long as _I_ live, but I am not technically what one would call ‘alive,’ and therefore: loophole.” She sighed sadly. “Unfortunately, your mate is smarter than that.”

That definitely made things more complicated, but he was also surprised that she hadn’t seen the _other_  loophole in Derek’s deal. Kind of sloppy, if he was honest, on both Derek _and_  the Demon’s part.

It still didn’t solve his problem, though. Stiles wasn’t exactly interested in dying, but he was _not_  going to let _Derek_  die. So he had to figure out the best way to resolve this without either of them dying.

He glanced back at Derek, who was still fairly weak, but looked like he was gaining more and more strength by the second. If he worded his own deal carefully—and loudly, to make sure Derek fucking _understood_ —then he would probably be able to trick the Demon into breaking _his_  deal. It hinged on Derek understanding what he had to do, but he was smart, he’d figure it out.

“All right,” Stiles said, turning back to her. “I know how to find the loophole in Derek’s deal, but before I tell you what it is, we’re going to make another deal. You are not going to act on the loophole until you and I have concluded our official deal pertaining to you sparing Derek’s life. Deal?”

The woman laughed at that, eying him with interest once more. “You _are_  smart. I’ve never met someone with enough forethought not to tell me the loophole without making a deal about it first. Very clever.” She grinned widely—too widely, showing how inhuman she truly was for the first time. “All right, Stiles Stilinski.” She held out one hand. “Deal.”

Stiles hesitated for only a moment before stepping forward and taking her hand. He instantly felt like someone had doused him in cold water, but it passed a moment later. It was probably a physical effect of the deal being made.

“Here’s our deal, then,” Stiles said, releasing her hand. “I will let you feed off me, provided you never again feed from Derek once our deal has been made.” He felt it was safer not to mention life or death or any real passage of time. ‘Never again’ seemed like the safest way to go.

“I would love that deal,” the Demon said with a cruel smile, “but that doesn’t solve my previous problem, wherein I told him I couldn’t feed off you.”

“But you also said the deal mentioned you could feed off him until he died in exchange for that.” Stiles motioned Derek. “He’s not dead.”

The woman blinked at Stiles, then looked down at Derek, the gears slowly turning in her head.

“If you were to stop feeding from him, and therefore not kill him _by_  feeding from him, then you can feed off me. It just means you can never feed off him again, which works out well because it also meets the criteria of _my_  deal with you.”

The Demon stared at him thoughtfully, still thinking it over. He was trying to shift closer to her to make himself as appealing as possible so that she wouldn’t find the _other_  loophole in her deal with Derek.

Namely, that if she didn’t kill Derek, but she fed off Stiles, the moment Derek died she’d have broken the deal. Based on what she’d told Stiles, Derek’s deal had been that she could feed from him until he died as long as she never touched Stiles. The fact that she’d already fed from Derek, automatically bound her into the “until he died” part of the deal, so even if this backfired and Stiles died tonight, when Derek died of old age or whatever in five hundred years—or however long Werewolves lived—the Demon would die, too, for having broken the deal.

Not that Stiles wanted to die tonight, but at least he knew Derek’s death would lead to hers eventually.

He must’ve been making himself _very_  enticing, because she didn’t seem to have caught that loophole. Sloppy for a Demon, but then again, maybe Stiles had misunderstood the terms of Derek’s deal.

Either way, it didn’t matter. Stiles had worded his very carefully. All Derek had to do was get her to feed from him after she’d fed from Stiles. If he played his cards right, the Demon would be distracted during her meal with Stiles. All Derek had to do was crawl over and wave his hand or something in her face, and boom. Deal broken.

No one would die, except the Demon.

Which was fine with Stiles.

“All right,” the Demon said, holding out her hand again. “I will feed from you in exchange for never again feeding from Derek.”

“Stiles!”

He turned to look at Derek, who looked crossed between agonized and furious. Not an uncommon look for him, really. He hoped Derek understood.

“She can never feed from you ever again,” Stiles said, trying to drive the point home. “Once she’s had me, she can never touch you again.”

“Stiles, don’t do this,” Derek pleaded.

He turned back to the Demon and shook her hand, feeling the wave of cold wash over him again.

Her grin was inhuman, which made sense considering she _wasn’t_  human. She grabbed Stiles by the front of the shirt and wrenched him forward so hard he almost fell into her lap. He instead landed on his knees to avoid sitting on her. He tried to look past her, since her face had gone remarkably inhuman and horrible, and heard her inhale deeply through her parted lips.

He hadn’t really known what this kind of Demon feeding would look or feel like, but it was remarkably simple. She was literally just sucking the life out of him, and he instantly felt all of his muscles tighten at the sensation. There was a dull ache at the base of his spine, and his mouth tasted like copper, as if he’d bitten his tongue.

When she inhaled again, he felt his tight muscles relaxing and the only reason he hadn’t slumped forward was because she was still holding his shirt. His brain felt fuzzy, his eyesight was blurring, and he could smell toast, for some reason.

What if Derek hadn’t understood? What if he _had_  and couldn’t crawl his way over? What if Stiles was going to die?

Just when he heard the Demon exhale, ready to feed from him again, she let out a weird sound and Stiles felt relief wash over him. Derek had figured it out.

He couldn’t see him, though. He didn’t know how he’d managed to trick her into feeding from him when he couldn’t see him anywhere near her, but the Demon’s skin was starting to shrivel up, her eyes sank into her head—which would give him nightmares for _days_ , thank you—and the hand holding his shirt began to crumble.

He fell heavily onto his side, struggling to inhale normally, still tasting copper in his mouth. When he glanced at the Demon, she had turned into a mummified statue, one shrivelled, crumbling hand still extended where she’d been holding Stiles’ shirt. Only her clothes had survived the outcome of the broken deal.

Coughing roughly and feeling ready to throw up, he turned to look at Derek, the beginnings of a smile on his face when he froze.

“Derek?” he asked, wondering if it was just his blurry eyesight, or if he was _actually_  seeing what he thought he was seeing. “Derek!”

It took a colossal effort to crawl his way over to him, and the second his hand landed in the darkness beside Derek, it squished between his fingers.

Blood. There was blood.

Because Derek had fucking _killed himself_.

“No,” Stiles insisted, pulling himself up into a seated position. “No, no, no.” He slapped both hands down on Derek’s throat, blood slowly oozing from the wound, Derek’s eyes glassy and vacant, staring up at nothing. “No! That wasn’t the deal! Derek, that _wasn’t the deal_!”

His breathing was doing weird things in his chest, and he just pressed his hands harder against the wound in Derek’s neck. This wasn’t happening. This was _not_  happening!

“Stiles!”

Someone was trying to pull him away from Derek, but he just held on, pressing down harder until he was forcibly ripped away from him, arms wrapped around his middle.

“No! No, he’s not dead! Derek!” Stiles elbowed and punched at the person pulling him away, determining it was his dad only because Scott and Parrish were crouched beside Derek’s lifeless form.

Stiles’ chest ached with the force of his wrenching sobs, now clutching at his father’s arms tightly wrapped around him, staring at Derek. What had he done? What had he _done_?!

Derek was supposed to fucking trick her into feeding from him! How had he not clued in to that?! How had he instead clued into the one loophole Stiles had gotten the _Demon_  to ignore?!

“Stiles, it’s okay. It’s okay.” His dad was rocking him slightly, lips pressed against his temple, but he barely heard him.

Nothing was okay. _Nothing_  was _okay_! Derek was fucking _dead_!

“He’ll be okay, right?” Parrish asked Scott quietly. “I mean, you’re Werewolves. You heal, right?”

“Not from this,” Scott said quietly.

Stiles was having a hard time breathing. This couldn’t be happening. He couldn’t lose Derek. What about that mate bullshit the Demon had been talking about?! Wasn’t there some kind of true love mate thing that could happen?!

“Stiles.” His view of Derek was obstructed when Kira bent down in front of him, offering him a sad smile. “Stiles, let’s get—”

“Foxfire,” he blurted out.

Everyone went silent and Kira frowned. “What?”

“Foxfire!” He started struggling against his dad once more. “Kira, you have to use it! Use it on Derek!”

“Stiles, I don’t think—”

“Please! _Please_!”

“Just try,” the sheriff said from behind him, still holding him tightly. “Please, just try.”

Kira looked uncertain, turning to glance over her shoulder, but she eventually shifted over to where Derek was lying, her back to Stiles. He couldn’t see what she was doing, but he felt the air around him charge slightly, like ozone before a storm, and there was a flash of light. He could tell nothing had happened based on Parrish and Scott’s faces, but before he could have another meltdown, Scott’s head tilted.

“Wait,” he said. “Wait, I think...” His head disappeared, like he was pressing his ear to Derek’s chest. “Holy shit!”

Stiles could feel his heart beating frantically in his chest when Scott started doing CPR. Parrish ripped at his undershirt and pressed it hard against Derek’s throat, the two of them talking rapidly to each other in low tones. 

And all Stiles could do was watch from halfway across the small space, his father clutching him tightly to his chest, and Stiles’ heart going a mile a minute.

* * *

Everything hurt. Parts of him he didn’t even know could feel pain currently hurt, so that was a new record for him. But no matter how much he hurt, he wasn’t going to move from his spot, seated in his desk chair, hands folded together, pressed against his mouth, and eyes locked on the occupant in the bed.

Everyone had told him not to get his hopes up, that Derek might never wake up, but he couldn’t believe that. He had to trust that Derek was stubborn enough to wake up if for no other reason than to yell at him until his face turned purple.

Stiles would happily take that verbal beating if only he woke up.

He’d been unconscious for sixteen hours. All of his wounds had healed, but he hadn’t stirred once since they’d gotten him out of the sewers. Stiles knew that his injuries, along with his depleted lifeforce, were probably a strain on his body, causing him to sleep this long, but another part of him knew it was also just as likely that he’d never wake up.

Scott had stayed with him for the first few hours, but eventually had to leave and get some rest. It had been a stressful day for everyone.

Stiles knew he also needed sleep, he could feel his entire body shutting down on him, especially since the Demon had been sucking the life out of him, but he was terrified that he would fall asleep and wake up to Derek gone.

He hadn’t felt pain that intense since his mother had passed away. To realize that he’d felt the same level of agony at Derek’s death as he had his mother’s was a little bit of a shocking revelation for him.

He knew he loved Derek. Only an idiot wouldn’t recognize that he was in fucking love with the asshole, but he hadn’t realized _how much_  until he’d lost him. Until the thought of not being able to ever see him again had really hit him.

He couldn’t lose him. He couldn’t do it. If he lost him, he would die. Derek had to be okay.

He had to _wake up_.

Stiles’ eyes shifted to the door when it opened slightly, his father standing in the doorway. He looked exhausted, and worried, but he offered Stiles a small smile anyway.

Stiles returned his gaze to Derek, waiting for something to happen.

“Can I ask you something?” his dad said.

Stiles shrugged in response.

“How long have you been together?”

At these words, Stiles glanced back at his father. The man gave him an unimpressed look.

“Stiles, only an idiot would’ve seen the way you reacted in the sewer and _not_  figured out you were together.”

Sighing and realizing the cat was out of the bag now, Stiles leaned back in his seat and raked a hand through his hair. “Six months.”

“Six months?” his dad asked, surprised.

“Would’ve been longer, except Derek refused to start anything until I turned eighteen.” Stiles let out a mirthless laugh. “He didn’t want to get shot.”

“He’s lucky he waited, then.” The sheriff shoved his hands into his pockets and moved a few steps further into the room. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t think you’d approve,” Stiles said quietly. “He’s older than me, but not by much. And there’s the whole Werewolf thing, and him being accused of murder once a year. I just...” he shrugged. “I wanted to just have something for myself without having to explain myself. Without having to defend why I was with him.”

“Did you think you’d have to defend yourself with me?” his dad asked quietly.

“I don’t know, dad.” Stiles rubbed at his face with both hands. “I know Scott isn’t happy, so there’s already that. And now you’re unhappy—”

“I’m not unhappy,” the sheriff said. “Concerned, but only about your lives in general. I know Derek’s a good man, and anyone who can make you react the way you did back in the sewers is someone I know is treating you right. You can’t love someone that much if they don’t deserve it.”

Stiles glanced at his dad, seeing him staring down at Derek. “Are we okay?”

The sheriff looked back at him, smiled, and moved further into the room, wrapping one arm around his son and kissing his head. “We’re okay, Stiles.”

They stayed like that for a few moments, then Stiles told his father to get some sleep. He said he would try, but Stiles was pretty sure he wouldn’t until Stiles himself actually went to bed.

Parents worried.

His dad left the room, shutting the door behind him softly, and his footsteps padded down the corridor. Stiles was still staring at the closed door when someone spoke.

“I thought he’d never leave. I’m in no condition to get shot right now, and I’ve had to scratch my nose for almost ten minutes.”

Stiles’ heart relocated itself in his throat and he leapt forward onto the bed. “Derek?!”

“I’m not deaf,” he grumbled, eyes opening to slits. “I’m just injured.”

Overcome with a sense of relief, it was quickly washed away by anger and Stiles began punching repeatedly at Derek’s shoulder, even though it was probably hurting his hand more than it was hurting Derek.

“You fucking _asshole_! What the hell were you _thinking_?!”

“I was _thinking_  that I didn’t want you to _die_ ,” Derek bit out, words a little slurred and glare losing some of its heat from how exhausted he looked.

“I didn’t want to die either, which was why you were meant to fucking _trick_  her into _feeding_  from you after she started on me! I was expecting you to fucking wave your hand in her face or something!” Stiles continued punching at him until his hand hurt too much and he had to stop.

Breathing hard, he buried his face in Derek’s chest, wrapping his arms around him as best he could, and struggled to breathe.

“You idiot. You fucking stupid _idiot_.”

He felt Derek’s arms wrap around him, squeezing tightly, but not as much as usual. He was obviously still weak.

Stiles figured dying would do that to a person.

“That makes a lot more sense,” Derek said quietly. “I was wondering why you’d repeated the deal to me.”

“Trust you to find the one loophole I tricked a Demon into overlooking.” Stiles sniffed and lifted his head, resting his chin on Derek’s chest so he could look up at him. Derek was staring at the ceiling, but one of his hands was running up and down Stiles’ back. “You know dying isn’t going to get you out of this relationship, right?”

Derek let out a snort, then winced, as if it had hurt. “Damn. And here I thought it was a surefire way to escape you.”

Stiles buried his face in his chest again and exhaled shakily. “Don’t ever do that again.”

“Don’t make me.”

“I’m serious.” Stiles scowled, sitting up. “You made a deal with a Demon without telling anyone, and then went and nearly got yourself killed. Then you actually _did_  get yourself killed! Derek, you can’t just _do_  things like that, you have to recognize that your actions have consequences.”

“I was just trying to keep you safe.”

“I know, but what about _you_? Are you still missing the part where I’m trying to keep _you_  safe? Do you have any idea what you did to me?” Stiles rubbed at his face with both hands, Derek’s resting lightly at his waist, left thumb rubbing back and forth at his skin where his shirt had ridden up.

“And what was that mates business? How could you not tell me that?”

Derek’s thumb stilled and he stared up at Stiles uncertainly. “I didn’t know how you would take it.”

“Did it occur to you that a connection like that is _obviously_  a two-way street, and if you cared about me enough to form it, I obviously cared enough back?”

Derek kept staring at him and Stiles sighed when he realized that meant it _hadn’t_  occurred to him.

“You’re fucking hopeless.” Stiles fell back on top of him. “I don’t know why I put up with you. Grumpy, overprotective sourwolf.”

“It’s because you love me,” Derek informed him.

“Unfortunately.” Stiles kicked off his shoes and shifted a little on the bed so he was lying on top of Derek more comfortably. “Now that you’re awake, I’m exhausted and going to sleep.”

“Okay.” Derek’s hand was rubbing his back once more. “Stiles?”

“Hm?”

“Thank you for coming for me.”

“I’ll come save your suicidal ass as many times as I need to,” Stiles informed him.

He heard Derek let out a small laugh, but he said nothing more, hand continuing to move up and down his spine. After a moment, he let out a thoughtful hum.

“What?” Stiles asked.

“I guess everyone knows, now.”

“Yeah.” Stiles frowned. “I kind of liked it being a secret, but at least now I can bitch at everyone about my super annoying boyfriend.”

“I won’t have to park my car four blocks away.”

“Might want to keep doing that,” Stiles said. “Not sure how dad’ll feel about you spending the night. What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

Derek hummed in agreement. “I’m actually relieved they know. I was wondering if this would be something you never admitted.”

“I was going to when the time was right.” Stiles scowled, eyes still closed. “Apparently the right time was when you were lying dead in the sewers. You stink, by the way.”

“You don’t exactly smell like a bush of roses yourself.”

“You’re the worst boyfriend ever.”

“But you love me.”

“I do.”

“And I love you.” Derek kissed whatever part of his forehead he could reach.

“You do,” Stiles said.

“Go to sleep, Stiles.”

So maybe they would still have to talk about the whole overprotective Werewolf thing, but at least Stiles had something to hold over Derek for the next, oh, thirty years.

He didn’t know how Derek had survived, but he liked to think it was the whole mates thing.

Maybe it was time for him to start digging a little deeper into Werewolves, because if Stiles could get fucking pregnant, he and Derek were going to have issues with their sex lives.

But at least for now, he was content to just hold him, and know that their secret relationship wasn’t so secret anymore.

And that felt kind of nice.

**END.**

**Author's Note:**

> IT (c) Stephen King
> 
> I probably missed many more loopholes in the deals. They made my brain hurt. I apologize, I am not a Demon who makes these on the regular...


End file.
